


everything you touch turns to gold

by skochius



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon!Loki, Dragons, Gold Sickness, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Protective Loki, Running Away, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Young Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skochius/pseuds/skochius
Summary: Loki is an old dragon, ready for new adventure and Tony is a lonely child, desperate to escape.





	everything you touch turns to gold

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt written for an anon on my tumblr that got away from me a little :D So here it is!

* * *

 

The sound of drums wakes him.

Loki—or Loptr, perhaps, or He Who Roars—groans at the sound. He's only just fallen asleep, it feels. Fire builds in his belly and Loki coughs a few sparks out, just enough to light his den for a moment. But a moment is all Loki needs to see that his treasure is safe.

The drums grows louder and Loki rises to his feet, shakes the sleep off his scales. His cramped wings ache. He'll fly tonight, even if the offering pleases him. It never hurts to remind the people just who and what they worship.

Fury and fire incarnate, a god of the skies as changeable as the wind.

Chanting starts, prickling a headache that itches under his horns. The display pleases him, but must they do that as soon as he wakes? Loki hopes they've prepared him lamb—not that it matters, as he'll still snatch some from the fields and the farmers will consider themselves fortunate he did not take more.

“O great one!” A man's voice echoes through the winding tunnels of Loki's cave. “We bring you gifts!”

A tendril of satisfaction coils through Loki. He rubs his horns on the rock walls until they are shiny... and sharp. He weaves his massive body through the caverns, letting the stone slough away unshed scales and the mites that have attached themselves to him as he slumbered.

He roars lazily, enjoying the falter of the chants and the hectic whispering at the sound.

Light trickles from the path that leads to the entrance, watery and red—here the cave widens and by the time he's reached the mouth, there's enough room to have his wings spread. Not fully, but the effect is terrifying if the screams that accompany his appearance are anything to go by.

The priest in his white robes shrinks from him as he steps into the world properly, relishing the crisp evening air and feeling more alive than he has in centuries. But Loki only has eyes for the altar.

There's nothing. Not a thing on the altar. No roasted meat, no glitter of gold, nor soft wool to lay on.

The fire flares to life inside him and Loki breathes it out into the air, tossing his head to and fro as he expels a wildfire.

“Wait, please! We have an offering, we do!”

Loki shrieks, the sound piercing the sky and sending droves of birds in the forest below his mountain to wing. He swings his head around, focusing one eye on the man and rumbles a low warning. “Too soon! You have awakened me too soon, priest. What is this?”

“We have no offering, as our lands are being invaded. Pillaged. Outsiders stalk our borders and steal everything. An... an army marches to—to—.” The priest spreads his hands, supplicating. “Please, Roarer, we beg of you. Rain your fire down upon the enemy that would destroy us all.”

“The wars of men do not concern me.” Loki snaps his teeth, each twice as long as the human is tall. “My offering, mortal, or your death will come not from your foe, but from me.”

“We... we do not have...”

Loki stretches himself to his full size, the great leathery arches of his wings spanning the full length of the rocky out-clip. “What you have,” Loki rumbles, smoke curling from his nostrils. “is until the moon rests in mid-sky to bring me offerings. Or I slaughter you all.”

The priest stammers, then screams and dives out of the way as Loki flaps his wings and takes to the air. He spirals around the villagers, roaring and casting fire above their heads, until their cries blot out all other sound and Loki, pleased with their fear, flies off in search of something to eat.

 

– – –

 

If he seeks out the army at the border of his territory, it is only to gorge himself on their herd of horses.

Though he does set the tents aflame, because it glitters so beautifully on his green scales.

 

– – –

 

He returns before the moon reaches the zenith of the sky, belly full and fat. His scales itch with restlessness and he considers, perhaps, leaving for a new territory. Finding a mate. Building a new hoard.

It's a fine thought, and Loki allows himself the fantasy of being young again—stealing treasure rather than demanding, laying siege to castles, or even taking human form and whispering in the ears of Kings...

Loki sighs, a thin stream of fire jetting from his mouth.

And something yelps.

Loki will deny this until the day his teeth fall out, but the sound startles him and he jolts, crashing into the side of the mountain, turning and stamping to try to find the source of the sound.

“Stop it! Stop!”

Such a tiny voice. Loki shakes his shoulders, squinting by the light of the moon. Normally darkness doesn't impede his vision, but he can't make out at all who's speaking.

“You dare order me?” He rumbles, agitated by his unseen company. “I am The One Who Was Born Of Fire—”

“I know who you are,” the little thing snaps. “I didn't think you'd be back so soon.”

Loki opens his nostrils and sniffs deeply, inhaling the scent of a human he cannot see. What sorcery? “Show yourself, or I will light this cliffside aflame.”

“I'm... I'm right here.”

The words give him a general location and Loki drops his head to ground level. And— _there!_ —he can just barely make out...

It's a human hatchling, so small Loki is almost blind to it. Loki tilts his head and inches his muzzle closer, fascinated. How does it live, being so little? “Who are you?”

The hatchling shakes, but stares at him, bold. “Anthony. Tony.”

Loki snakes his head forward and leans until his eye is nearly pressed to the hatchling. “Anthony...” The boy's own eyes are fearful, but defiant, glaring up at him. They're gold, like the coins in his lair.

Loki's claw dig into the stone and his heart pounds. _Gold_. Gold-treasure-keepitsafe—

The hatchling's name even means _treasure_.

“So you are my offering.”

“What?” He squeaks. “No! I just came up here to get away from Dad, I didn't—”

Loki sweeps his neck, catching the hatchling-treasure by surprise and herding him towards Loki's body. He flares his wings wide to cover the hatchling so no dragon above could spy his treasure—even though he himself could barely see the boy.

It is gold sickness.

There is a rational part of Loki's mind, screaming that a hatchling was not treasure, _and yet_ weren't they? Small beings to be kept safe until they could terrorize their enemies with flame and fang.

Here, surrounded by Loki's scales, the hatchling is protected. His wing turns the light of the moon cloudy, and casts a green tint to Anthony—who is standing stock still, little nostrils flaring, eyes darting as though seeking an escape.

The hatchling is _afraid _.__

Loki blinks, then turns his head out of the shelter of his wing. He focuses on the ancient magic he has not called upon in some time—oh, but the power feels wondrous!

And when he opens his eyes, he sees—

Anthony, now up to his waist, instead of so slight he wasn't even half the height of his little toe's talon. The form Loki holds is a mental projection only, because he dares not risk tying his soul to human flesh now, when the treasure is vulnerable.

Loki glances at his massive flank, beautifully decorated with green and gold scales.

“You... are the dragon, aren't you?”

“Yes,” Loki says, and frowns. He'd forgotten how he sounded without the rumble of a roar in his voice. “You were scared.”

Anthony stares at him. “You called me treasure and trapped me with your body. Yeah, I'm a little scared. Not going to lie.”

Loki kneels, and he's finally on level with Anthony. A dark, lividly purple mark stretches on Anthony's cheek. Those gold coin eyes glitter in the dark sanctuary he's made. “I'm taking you as my treasure, yes.”

“Does that mean you're going to kill me?” Anthony says dully. Like he's resigned to this, has been since he hatched.

Loki's corporeal body growls, the vibration deep and low, shaking the rocks on the ground. “No,” Loki responds. “It means I will keep you safe with my life, and guard you from anything that might harm you.”

Anthony touches the bruise on his cheek. “I...” He licks his lips. Tilts his head. Taps a finger on the mark. _Thinks._ “I can't live in a cave.”

The growl turns into a content purr. “I will capture a castle for you.”

“Probably can't ride a dragon around forever.”

Loki motions towards his human body.

Anthony squints. “You aren't _weird,_ are you?”

It takes a moment for Loki to comprehend what the hatchling is asking, but when he does, his lip curls. “I would never hurt a hatchling,” he vows. “Nor my own treasure.”

The boy's back slumps; he leans his weight on Loki's toe and Loki cannot feel it, not even when he concentrates. He'll have to stuff this hatchling with many horses, make sure he gains _some_ substance to his person.

“What if my Dad comes looking for me?”

“I could eat him,” Loki promptly offers. A light snack never hurt a dragon.

The hatchling giggles, pauses for a second like he's considering it. “No,” he says eventually. “But could you scare him really badly? Make him pee himself?”

“Easily.”

Anthony touches one of Loki's smooth scales and smiles. “Alright. Alright. I'll be your treasure... Loki, right? Because I'm not calling you 'The Roarer', that's stupid.”

“...That's a very fine title, little one, I'll have you know. I earned it.”

“Yeah, you roared very loud.”

“Hush,” Loki grumbles. He closes his fleshy eyelids and releases the tendril of magic he's holding. “and get inside the cave.” When he opens his eyes, he's the dragon once more, and Anthony is but a smudge against him. Tomorrow he'll fly out and secure them a place in a palace worthy of his treasure, somewhere fortified with stone and cannon, and once more assume his human skin.

The future, Loki thinks, ushering little Anthony into the cave, looks much better than it did when he was awakened.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! You can find me at skochius.tumblr.com, where I'm usually having some sort of fit over Tony Stark.


End file.
